


The Wisp Sings

by missingmymothership



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fishing, I DIDNT HAVE TO DO ANY RESEARCH I HAVE A PROBLEM, M/M, barely-mentioned alcohol use, dinner making, maybe some other adorable stuff, seriously tho I'm a fishing nerd and I needed an outlet, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingmymothership/pseuds/missingmymothership
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a nice day. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wisp Sings

**Author's Note:**

> For queen-hannibal on tumblr. :) Happy holidays!

Will sat, the boat creaking gently in the water, lake slapping against the metal. The chill in the air felt good on his flannel-clad shoulders, and the musty smell of live bait in the milk jug next to him carried right to his nose. Some people abhorred the smell. He didn’t mind it, so if the wind changed he wasn’t scrambling to move the jug. Minnows were sweet little fish. Almost a shame to snag ‘em on hooks and use ‘em to catch the bigger fish out there. Almost.

Generally, it was frowned upon to catch walleyes with worms, and while minnows weren’t completely ideal either, their shine would attract the big golden fish, and, if he set his hook right, Hannibal would have something to make for dinner. Leeches made the best bait, really. But the bait shop only had minnows and it’d been a long time since he’d had to catch a leech. In the end, he’d decided it wasn’t worth it.

He fixed his hook--an Aberdeen, good for keeping minnows and catching light-biting fish--but before he secured the knot and the weight, he scratched the point over his fingernail. It dug in a bit. Satisfied the hook was sharp, Will tightened up the knot and plunged his hand into the milk jug to catch a minnow, and he speared the bait.

Echoes of what he’d said to Jack years ago bounced in his head. 

It was true, though. Will was a good fisherman.

He squinted into the distance over the lake. A sandbar sat about forty feet out. Sandbars were the best places to catch walleye. If he could get a good cast that way, he wouldn’t have to move the boat and disturb the water. 

Will flipped the bail and swung his arm back like he was pitching a ball, then cast. He watched his bait sail through the air and land with a plop right where he wanted. Will grinned. His face may be fucked up, but his fishing wasn’t.

He fed the line out with his index finger til it’d sunk as far as he needed it to, then flipped the bail back and stuck the rod between his knees, careful to keep the tip of the rod close to the water.

And then he let his shoulders relax in the warmth of the slowly rising morning sun. He felt connected with the water, the slow rocking of the boat in the wind and the tinny slosh of the water in its little bilge. Every so often there was a pull on his line, a tiny _dink dink,_ as his father’d called it, that he could attribute to the swimming minnow. A small, sharp hook would keep it alive longer so it could do its job.

The similarities between himself and the minnow did not go unnoticed by the analytical part of his brain. He pushed his glasses up his nose and very deliberately shut that off. His days with the FBI were long past; he was no longer a minnow on an Aberdeen.

The sun rose over the hills; he could feel it on his back.

And then he got a bite.

Will jerked the rod up to set the hook, and when the weight remained on the end of his line, he began to reel. The pole curved, and the reel creaked, and Will grinned wildly because the fight was just beginning. Whatever was on the other line was, he estimated, about five pounds. If it was a walleye he’d have a 24 inch fish and he wouldn’t need to catch another.

He reeled and gave slack, reeled and gave slack, and at some point he’d stood up in the boat for better leverage. Finally he could see the walleye in the water near his boat, a beautiful brassy color deepened by the lake. Will went for his net, kneeled close to the gunnel of the boat, and slipped the net into the water. He pulled up the rod to bring the fish closer and cradled it in his net, brought it out of the water.

The first thing he did was make sure it a legal catch by measuring it on the boat bench. 22 inches. Not bad, Graham.

He pulled the hook out with his pliers, hit the fish on the head, and let it bleed out below the gills. No sense in prolonging its suffering.

Will reached for the cooler in the bow of the boat and packed the fish in ice, then cleaned up his tackle and started up the motor. Time to head home.

*

Will laid the walleye out, its wasp-colored scales glistening in the low light of the kitchen, and removed its cheeks first, peeling them off the skin and setting them on a piece of plastic wrap. Hannibal hovered behind him--he could tell by the breath on his neck and the barely-there pad of bare feet on limestone tile.

He slit down the gill cover, then ran the razor sharp filet knife down along its backbone, all the way to the tail, then turned the fish over and did the same thing on the other side. He slid the knife through the fish and started the first filet, then flipped it and repeated his knifework. He cut both filets off the fish and separated them from their skin. 

He glanced behind him, where Hannibal was watching. “I’m turning these over to you. I recommend something with almonds.”

Hannibal smiled. “Whatever you say.”

“You want me to zipper it before I go wash up, or are we leaving the bones in?”

“I’m planning on something that involves a whole filet, I think.”

“Fantastic.” Will went to leave for the shower, but Hannibal trapped him against the counter and gave him a peck on the lips. “Hannibal, I’m fishy and disgusting.”

“I’ll agree with fishy.” He lowered his lips to Will’s again, who grinned.

“Then I guess you won’t mind if I put my hands all over your shirt, then?” He reached up; Hannibal caught his hand and moved aside, taking a towel from the counter instead.

“Go shower, before I use this on you.”

Will walked out of the kitchen laughing.

Their little house was one floor with a porch out front that needed repainting and a bathroom with fantastic water pressure connected to their bedroom. There was a tiny sitting room stacked with books, firewood outside around the back, and a galley-style kitchen which was still equipped with some of its original fixtures. Will felt...satisfied in that house. They’d be leaving in a few weeks, of course, but for now he tried to enjoy its simplicity. It wasn’t that he disliked opulence, or even that he felt out of place. Simplicity was just...less exhausting.

He padded into the bedroom to find the dog (who didn’t have a name other than Dog yet) snoozing on their bed. Hannibal would have kittens when he saw the mutt up there, but Will couldn’t find it in him to move him.

He stepped into the bathroom to shower.

*

Standing at the counter and chopping vegetables was an enormously soothing task, something that spread balm on nerves that were somehow always frayed, no matter how long Will went without detection or staring at bodies all day. Hannibal seemed to know this without it being said. Perhaps it was the process of creating something with a tool so easily used to destroy that reminded Will there was good to be made in chaos. 

He tried not to get too philosophical about it. He needed to balance Hannibal out, anyway. Will was practical, hard-edged and soft-hearted, while the man he’d run away with lived in his own head with a ruthless pragmatism and blood in his mouth, yet snatches of gold filigree and stained glass lay in his eyes and his teeth. They balanced each other.

The knife sliced through zucchini, through Roma broccoli, through sweet yellow onion and snapping bell pepper. Finally, there was nothing more for him to do, so he stood by the stove and watched Hannibal brown butter and sauté almonds, stir lemon juice into the butter. He watched as the fish came out of the pan and the bubbling sauce was poured over it, as the vegetables were scooped out of the grill pan and set on the plate with the fish.

Will set the table while Hannibal finished plating, and they enjoyed a quiet meal of fresh-caught fish and lightly smokey vegetables.

“Will?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

*

They’d gotten a fire going in the sooty fireplace, and Will’d opened up a bottle of Laphraoig, and they sat dozing together on the moth-eaten couch.

“You know what we need?” Will asked, from somewhere against Hannibal’s shoulder.

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“I think we need some music. Something quiet.”

“Why?”

“Just a thought.”

“You realize that means I have to stand up to get a CD?” Hannibal carded a hand through Will’s hair. “I don’t want to stand up just yet.”

“Hold on, I’ve got my phone.” He dug it out of his pocket and selected a song, then set the phone on the arm of the couch.

“You’ve come prepared.”

“ ‘M like a boy scout.” 

Hannibal hummed, then, and stood. 

Will wasn’t expecting it and ended up facedown on the cushions. “What happened to you not wanting to stand up?”

“This is a dancing song, I think. Care to dance with me?”

Will sighed as the other man extended him his hand, then he accepted and stood. 

It was a quiet song, perfect for a slow sort of swaying in the firelight, socks and bare feet scuffling on carpet. Will rested his chin on Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and hoped Hannibal knew what he meant.

Hannibal brought his hand up and pressed a kiss to it. “I should be thanking you, Will.”

They stayed that way in silence for a long time.

*

Will was asleep almost the moment he hit the sheets. Hannibal’s arms wrapping around him didn’t even make him stir.

**Author's Note:**

> listen to the song
> 
> you know you want to
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A0Beo0M-tQ
> 
> Wanna know what a walleye looks like? Of course you do! http://www.in-fisherman.com/files/2012/12/PK-Ice-Pig.jpg (note, the person pictured is of course not me)
> 
> As always, find me on tumblr as lamby-grahamy! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
